Well, this marks a special episode of the podcast. Today we release our 600th episode of The Perceptive Photographer. I wanted to take a moment to say that it has been a blast to do that many, and at the same time it’s hard to grasp the significance of that number. That is roughly 11½ years of commitment to showing up every week. There are very few things in my life that last that long, so it is pretty cool to have a relationship with this podcast that is as consistent and reliable as it is. In looking back at the past 599 episodes, I feel the more fascinating part isn’t the number of episodes but rather what I’ve learned from the journey of consistently engaging with photography and creativity over such an extended period.

So as I look back over these past 600 weeks thinking solely about the impact of the podcast, I came up with some things that I have learned over the years that I wanted to share. First, I’ve realized that you don’t have to be inspired to create something worthwhile (or at least what I think is worthwhile 😀). There have been more than a few weeks where creativity felt like it was gone, and doubts crept in, but I really wanted to have that podcast every week no matter what. The inspiration was in the showing up. So, I’ve learned that true consistency lies in the willingness to pay attention, dig in and celebrate everything that is in your life that might inspire you, no matter how small, and to show up regardless of inspiration. Second, I’ve come to understand that questions are far more meaningful than answers. Sustaining this podcast has been driven by curiosity for what it means to try and be present for my photography even when I don’t pick up a camera at all. I find that by having to show up every week for my creative practice, I find myself constantly asking myself what I see and what is interesting that might make my photos better or the podcast topic list. Lastly, I’ve discovered that paying attention transforms more than just the photographs; it enriches every aspect of my life.

As we approach the end of this episode, it’s cool to think that 600 isn’t a finish line. There’s always more to explore, and next week, I’ll be digging into episode 601, and no, I have no idea what the topic is yet. Ha ha ha.

Finally, I want to say thanks for joining me on this podcast journey. I hope that for you it continues to inspire you to look, wonder, pay attention and make more meaningful photographs.

I was recently talking with a friend of mine who is an absolutely incredible salesperson. You can walk into his studio to bring him a cup of coffee, and within five minutes you’ll probably be discussing whether you need a painting or a sculpture. He is good at art, and he is good at selling his art.

And it got me thinking about how often photographers say, “I’m terrible at sales.” But like my friend, maybe we aren’t that bad. Maybe we’ve simply been thinking about the wrong kind of sales.

In this week’s podcast, episode 598, we’ll discuss the right way to think about sales and a sales pitch. Because every time we make a photograph, we are actually making a sales pitch. We are assessing whether what we are seeing, editing, processing, sharing, and printing is worth the cost. In this case, I think cost is equal to attention.
I know that some of you think the word sales is bad, and sales is one of those words that makes a lot of photographers uncomfortable. We often say we aren’t good at selling our work, talking about our photographs, or sharing what we create.

But here’s the thing: photographers are making sales pitches all the time.
We’re just usually selling the photograph to ourselves.

When you’re walking around with your camera, and something catches your attention, you begin a conversation with yourself: There’s something here. You look at the light, color, composition, moment or whatever. You move around. You might change lenses or wait and convince yourself that it is time to press the button.

That’s your first sales pitch to yourself. You sold the making of the photograph.

The second time you make a sales pitch to yourself is when you edit. Out of hundreds of photographs, how do we decide which ones deserve our time and attention? We’re asking again: Is this photograph worth working on? Is there something I can develop here? Again, making the sales pitch.

Now, I am not saying that we always get our sales pitches right. I mean, if you are like me, you have fallen for some bad sales pitches and bought some bad stuff over the years. The photos are no different, but rather than saying I was suckered on a bad deal, I call it useful feedback. 😀

The same thing happens when we share our work. WE are making the pitch again. This time we might consider an external audience, but we have to remember there’s a big difference between “I believe in this photograph, therefore I want to share it” and “People liked this photograph, therefore it must be good.” The first begins with our own conviction. The second gives that conviction to somebody else.

Printing takes the idea even further. When I commit a photograph to paper, I’m saying I believe enough in it to invest my time and materials.
The cost goes up. I have to really do a sales job when I am printing work to have it, or to sell it; the story, value proposition, evidence all have to point to something good, or I end up with a Midnight Home Shopping Network binge buy of a photo on my wall.

Ultimately, we’re not really selling photographs. We’re selling ourselves to our work. We’re deciding what is worth noticing, photographing, selecting, editing, processing, sharing, and printing. The goal isn’t to know which photographs are objectively good. It’s to become better at recognizing which photographs we believe in and when we push our creativity with a hard sell.

Thanks for listening, and I’ll see you in the next episode.

This week we dig into part two of our mini-series with a focus (pun intended) on attention. As photographers, we often find ourselves debating what essential gear we need in our camera bags. Is it the camera itself? A favorite lens? A sturdy tripod? While all of these pieces of equipment hold their own value, I would answer that way myself. In reality, I think one of the most important tools is our attention. Understanding this concept can explain not only your photography but also the way you experience everyday life.

Have you ever noticed that you don’t photograph things that don’t catch your attention? Your photographs are essentially a record of what captures your attention. So, I ask you: what do your portfolio/images say about what you pay attention to? After all, we don’t often point our cameras at things that don’t interest us. But in that catch of attention comes the other side of the coin: the things we don’t notice. I feel that many times the things that we notice become more habit than anything else, and that for us to become better at our craft, we have to learn to shift our attention to the things we might not notice. Shadows over light, color shifts, texture shifts or whatever might be “outside” your comfort zone.

In today’s world, our attention is constantly being divided. Phones and social media are a big part. Just yesterday on a walk with the dog, we almost got bumped into a half-dozen or so times by people just walking and looking at their phones. It’s no wonder that focusing has become a challenge. However, photography offers us an incredible opportunity to reclaim that attention. By practicing mindfulness, we can sharpen our focus and enhance our craft. Think about the difference between actively searching for photographs versus patiently waiting for them to reveal themselves. Often, when we search too hard, we overlook the moment right in front of us.

Revealing is also something that happens in processing and viewing photographs. We start to see deeper layers of content and meaning in the work by shifting our attention to what is there, what we can see, what we can learn and away from what we “already” know.

It’s important to remember that a camera is just a tool. It records images but doesn’t have the capacity to notice. That’swhere we come in. It’s our role to see relationships, light, emotion, timing, and storytelling within a scene. Photography is more than just a means to capture images; it’s about becoming someone who truly notices the world around them. The more we practice attention, the richer our experience of life becomes. Consider the beauty of morning light streaming through your kitchen window or the soothing rhythm of rain tapping against your roof. What about the fleeting expressions people make when they think no one is watching? These small moments, often overlooked, become treasures when we allow ourselves to see truly and then photograph.

If your camera were to disappear tomorrow, would you still observe the world the same way? The essence of photography begins long before the shutter clicks. It starts with simply paying attention. We don’t photograph everything we see; we capture what we consciously choose to notice. The most important lesson photography teaches us isn’t merely how to snap better pictures—it’s about how to observe the world around us with greater awareness.

Attention isn’t just a skill for photographers; it’s a way of living.

I’ve been pondering a deceptively simple question: What makes a photograph good as part of my book club this month? But, before diving into that, a couple of quick announcements! I’ve got some new workshops lined up in 2027 at Badlands, Adventures in the Palouse, and the Oregon Coast and Redwoods. Check out the details on my website. Plus, I’ll be teaching a masterclass called “The Landscape is Language” at the Photographic Center Northwest in November 2026.

As for the topic of episode 596, the source of this question comes from re-reading The View from the Studio Door by Ted Orland. In the section Art & Society, Ted comes up with an interesting answer that we will get to at the end of the podcast. Sure, the what is a good photography questionseems like it should have a straightforward answer. We could list out a bunch of qualities: composition, light, color, timing, technical skill, originality, emotion. Maybe a photo resonates because it communicates something important or makes us pause and reflect. So, what are we really talking about when we say a photograph is good?

First off, we need to distinguish between “good” and “beautiful.” A photograph can be stunning without really offering much depth. Gorgeous light, perfect composition, beautiful colors—sure, but does it say anything? Conversely, a photograph can be rough around the edges but still pack an emotional punch.

First off, we need to distinguish between “good” and “beautiful.” A photograph can be stunning without really offering much depth. Gorgeous light, perfect composition, beautiful colors—sure, but does it say anything? Conversely, a photograph can be rough around the edges but still pack an emotional punch.

Who determines what makes a photograph good? Is it because I like it? A critic? Other photographers? Does it matter if it’s hanging in a museum or selling at auction? Or is it simply about whether the creator feels they achieved what they set out to do? The more I reflect, the more I realize there isn’t a universal standard for art—and maybe that’s just fine.

What if we judged the “goodness” of a photograph by its impact?

– Does it make me stop?

– Does it hold my gaze?

– Does it shift my perspective?

– Does it make me uncomfortable or curious?

– Does it inspire creativity in me?

Suppose I take a photograph that falls flat. You have them too. You know the ones with bad composition, poor lighting, missing the mark entirely. On its own, it might not see the light of day. But what if that photo leads me to create ten better ones? What if it highlights what I don’t want in my work or points me toward an unexpected direction? Does that still make it a bad photograph? Aesthetically, sure. Creatively, it could be invaluable.

It makes me wonder if we’re sometimes asking the wrong questions about art. Instead of “Is this good?” maybe we should be asking, “What did this make possible?”

I feel like photographers can get caught up in the notion that their work is a collection of standalone images. You make a picture, then another, and it’s easy to obsess over which ones are the “good” ones. But that’s not really how creativity works. It is a journey for us to follow, and the most important photographs aren’t necessarily the strongest ones; it might be the one that reshapes everything that follows

Ted Orland has this concept I keep returning to: a piece of work can be deemed good if it helps you move toward the next piece. I love this idea because it eases the pressure on each photograph. It doesn’t have to be the final say; it can be a question, an experiment, or even a failure.

In this episode of The Perceptive Photographer (number 594), I return back to dig a little deeper into one of the most common pieces of creative advice: know your audience. Your audience is not your starting point. Your audience is the people who see themselves in the work you made that began with your act of seeing and sharing something more universal than just here is a picture of a thing. The more clearly you understand what you’re exploring through photography, the easier it becomes for the right audience to find and value your work. Finding your audience is about expressing what really matters to you with enough clarity, honesty, sincerity and , lets me honest here, craftsmanship that others recognize something of themselves in your work. The next time you pick up your camera, instead of asking, ‘Will anyone like this photograph?’ ask, ‘What question am I trying to answer?’ You may discover that the audience you’re looking for has been waiting for someone willing to ask that same question.